


273 Days

by justhuman



Category: NCIS
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 05, post-season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-02
Updated: 2008-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-10 21:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justhuman/pseuds/justhuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony gets leave from the <em>Reagan</em> and just wants a couple of quiet days at home</p>
            </blockquote>





	273 Days

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

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[fic](http://justhuman.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [my_ncis_fic](http://justhuman.livejournal.com/tag/my_ncis_fic), [ncis](http://justhuman.livejournal.com/tag/ncis)  
  
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_ **NCIS Fic: 273 Days** _

 

The full seabag over Tony's shoulder was beginning to slip down his arm, to the hand that was being practically being cut in half by the handles of the plastic grocery bags. The gym bag was resting uncomfortably on his other forearm, banging up against the door, making it difficult to get the key in the lock. As it turned out, he didn't have to worry because the door swung open.

"Abby!" Tony called, as a smile spread across his face. He blinked when faced with Gibbs in an NIS T-shirt and a pair of jeans that had seen a lot of abuse over the years.

"Huh." Gibbs' brows came together but a smile was widening on his face. "I was going to say the same thing." Taking the gym bag, Gibbs stepped back into Tony's apartment.

"You were going to say, 'Gibbs what the heck are you doing in my apartment?'" Shifting the bags to his free hand, Tony stepped inside, relief washing through him because he was finally home. Then he blinked and couldn't stop his jaw from dropping.

"No, I was going to say, 'Abby, it was wise of you to rethink your party plans and bring your unpaid handyman some dinner.'" Dropping the bag, Gibbs pulled two beers out of the refrigerator.

"Gibbs..."

With a shake of his head, Gibbs slid the duffle off Tony's shoulder and put a beer in his hand. As he closed the front door, Gibbs said, "Finish the beer before you say anything."

Tony nodded, but didn't move otherwise. "It's, it's..."

"DiNozzo! Did you fail to wear hearing protection on the _Regan_ flight deck?"

Tony ears were buzzing, registering the sharpness in Gibbs voice. When he said, "Boss!" it was pure reflex, but the wave of emotion that came with it was something more. There was the desire to please, evident in the way Tony dropped the bags and popped the top on his bottle. There was something else too, something that felt better than home. It was something that in no way was going to analyze for fear of what it might be.

"I'm not _currently_ you're boss."

While the _currently_ swam around in his brain, Tony couldn't help but smile around the mouth of the bottle as he took a swig. Gibbs' voice had already dropped the marine gruffness and was sounding almost amused. "You missed me; I can tell."

Gibbs gave him a look, but Tony could see his heart wasn't in it, which just made him smile more. "It's the DiNozzo charm. You think you can live without it, but once it's gone -"

It was a hard headslap, the kind that might make you bite your tongue. Tony realized that his reaction could probably be accurately described as 'grinning like an idiot,' but he couldn't help it.

Gibbs was right next to him, so close that Tony could feel the warmth of his boss's breath right on his ear. "If that's what you wanted, DiNozzo, all you had to do was ask; no need to turn it into a production."

With a nod, Tony's grin widened again. "I missed you too, boss."

Gibbs shook his head but held back on rolling his eyes and then took the ship's ball cap off Tony's head. "Nice haircut, DiNozzo."

"Yeah, well, made it easier to blend in, and there didn't seem to be a lot of styling options in the ship's barbershop."

Gibbs grinned at him. The hair ruffle he gave Tony, as much as one could ruffle his now short hair, was all affection; at least Tony chose to interpret it that way. Then Gibbs dropped the cap back into place and stepped back, affording Tony another view of his apartment.

"Gibbs, this is _my_ place, right?"

"Oh yeah," Gibbs slapped Tony's shoulder. "Let's get out of here. I'll let you buy me dinner. I'll tell you all about the upstairs neighbor's leaking dishwasher and how Abby turned Ducky into a lawyer to strong-armed your landlord into a new kitchen and..." Gibbs looked around and shrugged. "New kitchen and other stuff."

Kitchen. Tony belatedly realized that there had been something different about the refrigerator door when Gibbs had opened it. He leaned to look past Gibbs. "Holy mother of - It's all new and shiny and stainless and black. Am I allowed to just boil pasta in there?"

"Abby certainly expects you to. I believe she's got a detailed list of how many dinners you owe her for house-sitting. But no cooking tonight; all the power is still out in the kitchen and they haven't hooked up the stove yet."

Tony nodded because that explained the orange extension cord snaking out from behind the refrigerator to ...somewhere in the living room. Then he remembered his groceries. "Uhm, that's actually disappointing." He picked up the bag and peered inside. Gibbs looked with him.

"Linguini, wine - are those clams?"

"Little necks. Yeah, after 39 weeks of Navy chow, I just wanted to come home and have some, well, home cooking."

"Some? Looks like you've got enough for six."

Tony looked up and shrugged. "I needed enough leftovers for breakfast tomorrow morning."

Gibbs nodded. "I could take you back to my place. You're going to need a place to sleep anyhow."

"It's rush hour, do you know how long it would take us to get to your place, even with your driving?" Tony was prepared to lose that argument, since Gibbs never actually listened to his traffic advisories, but then what Gibbs said sank in. "Wait, if it was the kitchen that flooded, then what's wrong with my bedroom?" He took a step towards the closed bedroom door before Gibbs grabbed his arm.

"Hey, you just got back, deal with it tomorrow, that way Abby can answer your questions."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tony worked his hand up under the cap and ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, I know it sounds stupid but it's been a long time at sea and I just wanted to come home, except-" Tony turned himself around, gesturing at the apartment. "You know, I just wanted..."

Gibbs let out a long breath. "I know. And as disappointing as this is, it could be worse."

Tony cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "A pile of ashes and a hole in the ground where the building used to be?"

"Soon to be ex-wife, naked in bed with two equally naked guys, neither of which was you," Gibbs said.

Tony just stared for a moment and then realized you needed to pick your fights and this wasn't the right one. He just nodded and said, "Right."

"Okay," Gibbs said, heading over to a pile of bags and painting supplies. "Let's see if we can salvage your home cooked meal." He rifled in a couple of bags, shifting things around, and finally stood with one bag and a paint can.

"Boss, how are we going to-"

"Grab the rack out of the oven," Gibbs said as he headed to the kitchen sink. When Gibbs removed the loose fitting lid, Tony saw that the paint can had been empty. What he didn't understand was why Gibbs rinsed it and was filling it with water.

Keeping his eyes on Gibbs, Tony opened the oven door and pulled out the rack as instructed. "And the paint can is for?"

"It's a new empty that Abby tells me is for mixing custom colors."

"I'm officially afraid."

With a smile, Gibbs slapped him on the back and turned off the water. "She probably won't use it after you've cooked in it."

"Cooked in it? I do have a set of pots," Tony protested.

"Set?"

"Okay, three. A big frying pan, pasta pot, and a little guy suitable for a can of soup or Chef Boyardee, but they are _actual_ pots," Tony said.

"And we don't know where Abby put them when she boxed everything up for the renovation." Gibbs slid the lid back on the paint can. Reaching into the pile of tools by the sink, he added a role of duct tape and a propane torch to the bag. "I assume you have everything we need foodwise in those bags?"

"Except maybe salt, because I had a salt shaker, once upon a time." Tony looked forlornly at the top of the stove, willing his Wyle E. Coyote and Road Runner salt and peppershakers to appear.

Gibbs turned back to the pile of plumbing supplies on the floor and grabbed a few fast food bags amidst the rubble. Opening them up one by one he dumped crumpled wrappers and a few fossilized fries on the countertop. The third bag yielded a pile of salt packets. "Ah, should have known. While you were gone, the Double Meat Palace went on a health kick. So while you're having your burger made almost entirely of saturated fat, you are no longer allowed to have transfat, and you have to salt your own fries."

Gibbs pocketed the salt and some other random things from the bags. Before Tony could say anything, Gibbs had picked up the supplies he had gathered and headed towards the front door, Tony just stood there a moment wondering what indy film he'd fallen into.

"Come on, DiNozzo, before those clams hit their expiration date."

***

At first Tony had been doubtful when Gibbs led him up to the roof, but once they opened the door and stepped into the open air and the view of his corner of the city he began to actually feel more at home. Off to one side of the flat, black-tarred surface, there was a work area where an awning of sorts had been fashioned out of a beat-up tarp. Along with cement crusted tools and a pile of bricks obviously meant for chimney repair, there was an hibachi with a bag of charcoal next to a deck chair.

"Apparently your landlord is taking his time with roof repairs," Gibbs said. "Why don't you get the grill started for the clams, and I'll get the pasta water going?"

"Sure." Tony nodded and then frowned. "If I'm making clams on the grill how exactly are you going to-?"

"An old marine trick, give me a minute."

The briquettes were self-lighting, but that didn't stop Tony from adding a good squirt of lighter fluid. He jumped back just far enough for his eyebrows to escape the resulting fireball when he tossed on a match. Coughing over the sudden burst of smoke and noxious fumes, he caught the glare Gibbs was giving him. It said, _idiot_ in a much more eloquent way than if the word had been voiced. "I planned it that way," Tony said, trying to sound confident.

"Uh-huh. Seems to me you were still thinking about burning the place to the ground." While Tony had been working on the grill, Gibbs had assembled some of the loose bricks into a small, three-sided structure about four bricks high and two bricks on a side. He laid the oven rack on top.

"And about these renovations that Abby hasn't mentioned anything about in the dozen e-mails she sent me this week?" Tony asked.

Gibbs duct-taped the propane torch to a brick, and then slid the brick under the grate. "Abby said she didn't want to worry you." Gibbs coughed over a laugh. "She might have also said something about wanting to surprise you."

Tony tried not to glare, but failed miserably.

"Abby came over about a month ago and found a flood. Upstairs neighbor had gone out of town on vacation and his dishwasher line gave way. I'm told there's a lot more damage upstairs, but that didn't minimize the river that came down into your living room and kitchen."

I twas petty, completely petty, but Tony needed to know. "My big screen TV and DVDs?"

Gibbs smiled. "Completely safe and the DVDs are apparently cataloged now. Abby went a little nuts when the cleanup started. She didn't just want to rebuild your apartment. She wanted to make it better than before, more organized."

"That's, that's just...wrong. It was organized; I know exactly where everything is-" Tony thought about what he'd seen downstairs and the cryptic comment about his bedroom. "Well, _was_. I knew where everything was."

"Tony." Gibbs reached out and patted him on the arm. "This is exactly what happens when you start sharing your home with a woman."

"But-" Tony sputtered, "Noooo! Abby's not living here and besides, Abby is Abby."

"Are you doubting that our Miss Sciuto is all woman?" Gibbs shook his head and pulled out the torch to light it. After adjusting the flame he slid it into the brick structure and put the paint can full of water on top of the rack, completing his makeshift stove.

"Of course Abby is all woman. I have noticed her many hot and lovely attributes." Tony caught the narrowing of Gibbs' eyes. "Which I would never, ever consider touching."

"Better not," Gibbs said and then plopped into the deck chair with his beer.

"I just thought that Abby was one of those rare women that had all the good parts without any of the bad controlling and redecorating bits."

Gibbs' eyebrows pulled together. "I kind of did too, which is why I told you to sign over the care of your apartment to her, but then the flood happened." Gibbs took a pull from his bottle and shrugged. "Kitchen is looking nice though."

"Well, yeah," Tony agreed and frowned. "How much is this costing me anyway?"

"According to Abby, it's costing you a couple of cans of paint and the closet organizer pieces she was making me install," Gibbs said. "The landlord was apparently going to cheap out on repairs until she made Ducky contact the lawyer friend of his that helped you with all the power of attorney stuff when you went on assignment."

"She got my cheapskate of a landlord to foot the whole bill?" Tony shook his head in disbelief. "Wait! You're installing closet organizers for me?" He felt like he should be ducking the glare Gibbs gave him.

"Look, DiNozzo, Abby was wound tight when all this started. The next thing I know there was talk of Katrina, and the looks she was giving me were like I had somehow become FEMA. And you know, normally I'd have put my foot down, but she's got a shrine down in her lab dedicated to you. What I didn't need was her spending her time focusing on that. I am doing this for **Abby**,DiNozzo!" Gibbs took a swig of beer. "And don't think I won't be collecting from you somewhere down the road."

Tony couldn't and didn't want to stop the grin that spread across his face. "So this shrine, I'm imagining candlelight and maybe some flowers."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs interrupted. "Think voodoo."

Tony did and got a very vivid picture in his head. He cringed and tried to physically shake off the feeling he got. Then, remembering his mission, Tony started digging through the food bags. Taking a tip from Gibbs' work, he put a stray piece of wood, some bricks and created a cutting board. He added his pocketknife and a head of garlic. "You know, I could grill the clams right on the grill, but we're bound to lose the juice and I've got no way to sauté-"

Gibbs reached into his supply bag and put a metal paint tray on top of the hibachi.

"Got a lid?"

Gibbs smirked and put a second tray over the first.

Tony pulled out a bottle of wine. "Corkscrew?"

"You don't carry around the right kinds of weapons if you're asking that." From his back pocket, Gibbs pulled out his own pocketknife and opened the corkscrew attachment.

"Okay, I concede. You just built a better kitchen up on the roof than I ever had downstairs - well, not including Abby's recent updates." Tony whapped the garlic head with his palm, breaking apart the cloves, and then went to work peeling them and slicing them thinly. "I'm just curious what you brought along to strain the pasta." Tony couldn't be sure, but he thought Gibbs might have blinked.

"Ye of little faith." With a grunt he levered the wine bottle open.

Tony went to move the 'lid' off his sauté pan and got scorched fingers for his trouble. He sucked at them for a second and then glared at Gibbs who passed him a paint stirring stick. For a minute, Tony just stared at it but then noticed that the paint pan had hooks built in the bottom to steady it on a ladder. With the stick, Tony was able to gently slide it off. Tossing some oil and garlic into the pan, Tony started to cook. "How's the water?"

The lid was beginning to gently rattle. Gibbs used some sticks to push it back. "Looks ready to me."

With a quick look around, Tony pointed at the pile of salt packets. "All of those in the water."

Gibbs frowned. "Looks like too much to me."

"Hey! Are you trying to teach me how to cook pasta? I'd just like to point out that-" Tony stopped himself before he finished with _you and I have had this argument before._ They were more or less getting along right now and Tony wasn't sure how the reminder would go over.

"That?" Gibbs prompted.

"That I've watched you eat bugs!" He tried to add conviction to the line, but its overall lameness shone through.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Which is to say that I've never actually seen that happen, but I can imagine that the Marines served them for lunch on Wednesdays." And Tony was amazed at how lameness tended to compound upon itself. He cleared his throat and held his head a little higher. "Listen, I don't try to teach you how to build boats, do I?" Tony pointed an accusing finger, watched Gibbs chew his lower lip and fight a ...smile. Tony dropped his hand and let out a breath. "You're yanking my chain."

"Well, if you're going to make it that easy, how am I supposed to resist?" Gibbs added the salt. "Hey, be careful not to burn that garlic."

In a near panic, Tony turned towards his garlic to find it gently sautéing and in no immediate danger. He tried to think of something suitably sarcastic as he turned back to Gibbs, but revenge flew out of his mind as he found himself looking at the scene in slo-mo horror. Tony didn't have time to think; he simply reached out and shouted, "No!"

"Something wrong, DiNozzo?" Gibbs voice was so fucking smug as he flexed the linguini over the pail of bubbling water.

Tony wanted to stand, get some height advantage, become more menacing, but he realized that that would probably only drive Gibbs to perform some combat maneuver that would land Tony on his ass and wouldn't rescue the pasta. So Tony laid it out for him. "I've been stuck at sea for more than half a year, sucking it up and taking one, or should I make that 273, for the team. I'm homeless, and you _know_ that you're never supposed to break the linguini."

"Yes, you made a point of telling me it was _bad luck_ the first time I let you invade my house, and we both know how that ended up."

Tony knew exactly how it'd ended up. It was same the incident that he'd avoided bringing up earlier. Hell, it was Gibbs who suggested that they should never talk about it again. And they both respected that and it was part of how they maintained a working relationship. They didn't talk about it again until Tony stayed at Gibbs' house when the building boiler blew and more or less the same thing happened. But here they were, of all the ridiculous circumstances, cooking on Tony's roof with power tools, and Gibbs was bringing it up.

"Two-hundred seventy-three for the team; that would be one for every day at sea, I take it?"

"Yes, it -"

"And tell me, Special Agent Afloat DiNozzo, were all of those days crappy days?" Gibbs was flexing the pasta, playing with the straws on Tony's back.

"And if I said yes?"

"You'd be lying."

Tony lifted his hand, prepared to enumerate all the crappy things that had happened to him on the _Regan_, its destroyers, and on shore leave. Shore leave, where other people got leave and he spent his time briefing sailors and then picking up the pieces when they ignored him.

"You'd be lying, to _me_."

That stopped Tony dead in his tracks. Lying to Gibbs was something in his past and something he wasn't about to repeat. Tony reached out and wrapped his hands protectively around the pasta. "Okay, it hasn't all been bad, but the fact remains that Vance has been gone for two months. McGee and Ziva are back, and I haven't heard one word."

"Took you long enough to get that off your chest." Gibbs released his hostage, which Tony dropped in the hot water, letting the strands of linguini fan out. The sounds of the city below failed to fill the silence, as Tony worked on stirring down the pasta and not looking at Gibbs. Once the pasta was bubbling along, he took the bottle and splashed some of the wine in with the garlic. After the initial cloud of steam, Tony poured in a little more and then dropped in all the clams and covered them as best he could with another paint tray. Focusing on the food was a good way not to look at Gibbs.

"Is it really bad luck?" Gibbs asked.

"What?"

"Breaking the pasta."

Tony shrugged "It's an Italian thing. Everything's either good luck or bad luck and crickets mean money. At least that's what the cheek-pinching aunts had to say about it." Tony tapped the stick against the hibachi grate. "They didn't have to tell me that it's bad luck when you come back from a funeral and the first thing that happens is the new director sends you out to sea. Well, maybe it's not bad luck if you deserve it."

"DiNozzo, it might be a bit self-centered of me, but I think that I'm the one that Vance was really pissed off at." Gibbs slid forward on the chair so that he was practically hanging over Tony.

"And we were just the fallout? I think you're underestimating how unimpressed Vance was when he asked Ziva and me whose side we were on. It was the only thing Ziva and I agreed on all week."

"Are you just regretting that answer now, for the last two months, or for the last 273 days?" Gibbs asked, apparently not needing to be told what the answer was to Vance's question.

Tony's laugh came out as a snort as he shook his head. "Just the opposite, I suppose. I figured that you regretted ever trusting me with anything, because this was my biggest fuck-up ever."

Gibbs voice was quiet, almost gentle. "There's a difference between screwing up and failing in your mission. Tony, if I thought you were at fault, I'd have taken your badge that day and abandoned you in the dessert to fend for yourself." Gibbs grabbed the back of Tony's neck and gave him a shake and then let go and slid back in the deck chair. "I trained both of you. I don't think I have to tell you which one of you was more conniving and sneaky. Don't take the blame for being outsmarted by someone you were supposed to be able to trust."

Trust and Jenny - all in the same sentence. That brought issues to mind that Tony pushed right back down. He had done this a thousand times in his brain, trying to reassess, shift the blame. He knew that she owned some part of it, but that never seemed to change the nagging feeling in his gut. Tony turned and looked Gibbs in the eye. "That still doesn't change the fact that I should have been there with her."

Gibbs gave a slow nod. "Doesn't change the fact that some of the bullets Jenny took were meant for me." Finishing the beer, Gibbs hauled it back like he was going to throw it off the roof, but then he just set the bottle down hard. "I can't bring her back or make it better for either of us."

Tony nodded, and Gibbs leaned forward and stirred the pasta.

Pulling off his hat, Tony wiped his brow on his sleeve and set the hat on the roof. "Okay, I get it. You're not holding a grudge, but why aren't I home - I mean _really_ home."

"Do you have any idea what your FitReps look like from the carrier group?"

Tony's cringe was reflexive. His previous jobs had taught him all he ever needed to know about performance evaluations.

"They practically _glow_ DiNozzo. Do you know how hard it is to convince the new director that I need you more than _an entire carrier group?_ It's especially hard when all the captains say what a great job you're doing and what an asset you are."

Tony blinked. "Really? I mean, of course- Really? Because there was the whole fire extinguisher - never mind."

"Would that have involved Captain Meyers?"

Tony's rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand, and he massaged the bridge of his nose. "Possibly."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Meyers is possible less thrilled with you than the other captains, but since he's one of many it didn't make a huge impression." Gibbs's eyes narrowed. "And to ice all that off, the new director has flipped through your file more than once and nodded over the part where Director Shepard offered you your own team in Spain. What the hell were you thinking to turn that down?"

Tony turned and fussed with the lid on the clams, peeking underneath. "Hey, you were just back from Mexico and still looked wobbly from the head wound. I just thought the team needed me."

The clams were nearly all open and the silence was suddenly deafening.

Gibbs slapped his hands against his thighs and stood up. "I could... I mean there's some more beers downstairs, and I could go grab them."

Tony picked up the wine bottle and took a healthy drink. "Yeah, sounds like a great idea." The paint stick wasn't an ideal tool to fish out a strand of pasta, so Tony tried to use two sticks. When he splashed hot water on his hand, he just became more determined. He was about to go ninja on the linguini, if only to avoid looking at Gibbs, but that was when Gibbs smacked his hands out of the way.

Gibbs lifted the pasta just above the water line using one stick and plucked a strand with his fingers. He held out the strand towards Tony, who opened his mouth. Gibbs lifted it higher. "Tony..."

It occurred to Tony how it must all look, him on his knees straining for a bite of food held just out of reach by his boss, just like everything he gave a damn about had been out of reach for the last 273 days. He turned away, looking for a paint stick. "I swear I'll keep all the clams to myself."

Squatting down, Gibbs held out the pasta strand and looked him in the eye. "We need you back, Tony." Gibbs was looking past Tony's shoulder, as if he was cataloging the antennas on the other roofs. Then he said with a sigh, "I need you back, Tony."

Tony knew he was staring at Gibbs like an idiot. It wasn't like he had a lot of practice responding to Gibbs wanting him around. With a nod, Tony took the strand of pasta with his fingers and put it in his mouth. Gibbs was still right there in front of him, hovering at eye level, like he was going to say something else, or maybe he was waiting for Tony to say something. Then there was fidgeting on both their parts.

"Pasta done?" Gibbs asked as he snatched up the paint can lid and a drill.

Tony had a vivid flashback of the last time they had cooked together during Tony's brief stays at Gibbs' house. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed that Gibbs moved away. "It's almost ready, another minute or so, but I could pull it off and let it sit in the hot water." Tony used a paint stick to lift the handle on the can of boiling water and then slid a sturdier piece of wood under the handle to lift it off the grate. He carefully reached underneath and turned off the propane.

The sound of a drill hitting metal made him look up. Gibbs was putting holes in the lid of the can. It only took a minute to drive in a dozen holes on one side. He tossed the lid back towards Tony saying, "Strainer."

Tony caught the lid and then the plan. He brushed the lid over his jeans to get rid of the metal filings and then settled the lid on the paint can. Glancing around he spotted what he needed in a pile of tools. Using a cement-stained mallet he pounded the lid home, steam wafting from the holes that Gibbs had drilled.

Gibbs had gathered some rags and he took the can from Tony, carefully holding it so he could strain the water out over a roof drain and not upset the delicate arrangement of spare parts.

Not finding a pot holder of his own handy, Tony pulled off his shoes and used them to slide the pan of seafood off the grill and onto his makeshift cutting board. He sliced open a couple of lemons and squeezed them, juice and seeds mixing with the clams and garlic.

Gibbs used a screwdriver to work open the lid, and with a nod from Tony, he poured the pasta over the clams. With a minimal amount of splashing, Tony combined the pasta, clams and pan sauce with a pair of paint sticks.

"It's only three more months, Tony."

Tony looked up at the sudden break in the activity.

Gibbs shrugged. "The new director told me two months ago that I wasn't allowed to disrupt a carrier group or to mess up your career by pulling you out of a plum assignment early. Vance really mucked up my efforts to get all of you back by giving everyone promotions."

Tony took it in and smiled. "I can survive three months. You know, if I can survive the weekend in my apartment such as it is."

Gibbs took a couple of plastic wrapped utensils out of his pocket. "When you see Abby, promise me you'll give her the benefit of the doubt and let her finish taking care of this."

Tony must have let the doubt creep into his face, or maybe it was the hesitation, because Gibbs jumped back in.

"Tony, I know exactly what it's like to go on a float and leave your life behind. I know how much you want it back. What I'd like you to consider is that you weren't the only one feeling screwed over by all this. Do you have any idea how many cardboard DiNozzos Abby has set up in her lab?"

"Just me, no cardboard Zivas or McGees?" Gibbs twitched and Tony threw up both hands to fend off whatever attack might be coming. "Sorry! I'm being an ungrateful bastard, I know."

"Ungrateful and whiny." Gibbs handed Tony one of the utensil packs and put his own fork into the paint pan of clams and pasta.

With a tiny pop, Tony opened the little plastic bag and set the paper napkin on his leg. "At the risk of whining more, this is the first time I've had enough leave to even think about flying home. I've got to be back on the _Reagan_ in five days. I just wanted a night in my own bed and some home cooking. I didn't think I wanted anything complicated."

Gibbs reached over and gave Tony's shoulder a squeeze. "You didn't ask for anything complicated," he said around a mouthful of linguini. He swallowed, making appreciative noises, nodding. He pointed at the pan and gave it a thumbs up. "I know I don't have to tell you that life's not always fair."

"But maybe less complicated than our rooftop dinner," Tony laughed and added his plastic fork to the pasta. Or he tried to. Tony lifted up the white plastic and studied the tiny tines at the end of the bowl. "Gibbs, this is a Spork. You can't do linguini with a Spork."

Gibbs moved a forkful of pasta to his mouth and smiled. Taking the Spork from Tony's hand, he used it as a spoon with his own plastic fork to twirl more pasta on and then held out the fork for Tony. "You can use a Spork with a little help from your friends."

Tony stared at the waiting fork and then looked Gibbs in the eye. If Gibbs was going to push, Tony was going to push back. "This is all a little deja vu; those times in your kitchen. The cooking together, the fight over breaking the pasta, you trying to make me use a potato masher to eat my dinner."

"Not my fault that every clean fork ended up on the floor while you cooked."

Tony raised a finger in protest. "I'm not going to let you blame me for the forks. OK, at least not all of them."

"You're just lucky that I didn't hand you a paint roller this time. And-" Gibbs cut him off before Tony could say anything. "You did get to eat, eventually."

"Eventually." Tony nodded and opened his mouth wide, leaned forward and took the forkful of pasta, mumbling out a further response around his mouthful of food. "Mmyeah, but it was mostly cold 'cause we spent a lon' time rollin' around the floor 'ucking each other."

"Listen to you, swearing like a squid. Frankly, the only reason I can think that we aren't naked and rolling around right now is that we're both a lot hungrier than horny," Gibbs said, smiling as he snatching a clam out of the pan.

Swallowing and licking his lips, Tony said. "Well, if I'm offending your delicate sensibilities now, I better hold off on the kinds of things I heard the jarheads say. And I'll have you know that I can do a lot more than just eat with this mouth." He used the socks to move the pan off to the side.

Gibbs sucked the meat out of his clam and tossed the empty shell into the paint can, keeping an eye on Tony. "Maybe we better move a little. We wouldn't want any unfortunate hibachi incidents.

"Boss-"

"Not your boss, DiNozzo; not for another three months."

"Which means that rule #12 - never date a co-worker - is not in effect." Tony shuffled forward on his knees, as Gibbs got off the deck chair, sliding it out of the way

"Hope you didn't strain anything remembering that. Of course, I'm still not sure if hunger isn't more important," Gibbs said as he leaned in towards the food. "Wouldn't want it to get cold this time."

Having heard enough, Tony intercepted Gibbs' hand and pushed him back while he straddled Gibbs' thighs. "Look, before you threaten me with your superior combat prowess, there's something you should know."

Gibbs was palming Tony's rock-hard cock through his jeans. "And what's that, DiNozzo?"

"Christ!" Tony fell forward, landing on his hands, his chest hovering just above Gibbs'.

"That's it? Tony, I know I'm good." Gibbs took advantage of their positions and shoved Tony's T-shirt up.

"Gibbs!" Tony started to say, but the next thing he knew there was T-shirt in his face and he was forced to shift around on his arms in order to get it off.

"273 days at sea. Is that what you were going to say, DiNozzo? Gibbs said as he went to work on Tony's belt.

"No." Tony batted at Gibbs hands and pulled himself up onto his knees, yanking off his own pants as he continued. "What I was going to say was 273 days of no sex, no dating, _no flirting_ because there's _never_ any sex aboard a US Naval vessel," Tony blurted out, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"At least not for the agent afloat," Gibbs laughed. He had pulled off his own shirt and opened his pants. "You're not going to try and tell me that there hasn't been any jacking off in the last 273 days, are you? "

"No." Tony shook his head and grabbed the waistband of Gibbs' jeans, barely waiting for Gibbs to lift his hips so Tony could pull them off. "What I was going to say was 273 days pretending that I was Abby's happy, devoted boyfriend."

"What?" Gibbs shouted and then he laughed. "How? Why?"

Tony lifted his hands and shrugged. "She sent me a cardboard Abby."

Gibbs threw back his head and let out a sigh. "Tell me she was wearing her court suit."

Tony leaned forward on one hand and then dragged the other up Gibbs' flank. "Nope. She was in full club gear with her belly button showing."

"And you put it up?"

"In my room, behind the door, at least until I caught the slimy contractor I was forced to bunk with drooling over her. I was sneaking her into my office when I ran into the Captain and the XO. It was shortly after the fire extinguisher incident so I was scrambling to explain why I was carrying around a life-sized Goth pinup and a farting stuffed hippo-"

Gibbs slid his fingers over Tony's shoulder and stroked the back of his neck before pulling him down into a hard kiss. As he wrapped his other arm around Tony's waist he rolled them both over. Tony felt the rough canvas tarp under his back and it sure as hell felt better than scratchy Navy sheets, and he wasn't about to trade it for 400 count Egyptian cotton, because that would mean losing body contact with Gibbs.

Gibbs' mouth on his was nothing like a gentle lover's touch. It was all tongue and teeth because neither of them was in the mood for slow. Tony thrust up against Gibbs' thigh, desperate for friction, for heat and human contact.

"Any condoms in your wallet, Tony?" Gibbs asked as he slid a knee between Tony's legs and pushed them apart.

Tony just looked at him. "You built a whole kitchen on the roof and didn't bring a condom?"

"What? You apparently forgot them but remembered to buy clams and wine and garlic!" Gibbs was panting and pinching one of Tony's nipples so hard that it felt good as his body bucked underneath the attention.

Sliding his hands back, Tony half sat up, putting him nose to nose to Gibbs. "Look, not normally how I operate, but I was clean before I left and have been celibate for-"

"273 days," they said in unison.

Tony licked his lips and took quick peck at Gibbs. "I'm betting that you haven't been tested lately, but I'm also betting that you're a whole lot more selective with partners than I sometimes am. And if you had shown any unfortunate symptoms-"

"I'd have talked to Ducky. Tony, I'm good with this, but if you're not sure-"

Tony wrapped both hands around Gibbs' head and pulled them both down to the tarp. The slide of Gibbs' cock against his stomach felt good, slick. It made him groan into Gibbs' mouth, thinking about how he'd made Gibbs hard and leaking.

Gibbs was breathing hard, as he lifted up, palming Tony's balls before sliding his fingers over Tony's hole. "You know, we could use-"

"Olive oil."

Gibbs mouthed the words.

"Trust me, the cheek-pinching aunts swore by it. Said it was better than any moisturizer," Tony said and pretended to himself that he didn't sound desperate.

"I'm betting your aunts didn't have this in mind," Gibbs said, as he scrambled over to the cooking supplies and grabbed the oil bottle.

"I don't know. I couldn't fully translate the Italian when I was a kid, but the parts I could..." Tony waggled both eyebrows and then shouted, "Hey!" while pointing a finger at Gibbs, who was sucking the meat out of a clamshell.

Gibbs licked his smiling lips and reached into the food again, biting onto the shell of a new clam and twirling some linguini. Tony bit his lip so he wouldn't laugh at the sight of Gibbs, walking back, linguini in one hand, olive oil in the other, and cock bouncing up and down.

Up on his elbows, Tony arched his back and opened his mouth, waiting for the pasta. Gibbs put down the olive oil and ate his claim as he eyed Tony from head to toe.

"Like what you see?" Tony asked, putting his weight on one elbow so he could wrap the opposite hand around his cock

"Mmmmm," Gibbs said as he finished his clam and tossed the shell. He held out the fork near Tony's mouth. Tony opened his mouth wide and lifted himself, following the food. Just when he though he was about to get his pasta, he was faced with a dilemma. He glanced between his food and what Gibbs was now offering in his other hand.

He glanced between his choices and then looked up into Gibbs' expectant eyes. "I'll want that pasta. Don't let anything happen to it."

"Don't worry, I've got you-" Gibbs sucked in a breath as Tony slid a wet tongue over the head of his cock and then took him in as far as he would go. Gibbs threaded his fingers through Tony's hair. "I've got...Yeah, I've got you, Tony."

A part of Tony didn't want to move; he just wanted to hang on to the moment. It sure as hell wasn't how he had envisioned home, but it would sure as hell do. Gibbs stroked his ear, and Tony didn't want to disappoint. Lifting himself to his knees, he moved his mouth slowly, up and down, working Gibbs' cock with lips and tongue, picking up speed as he moved. When he closed his eyes, he blocked out more than just sight. The rumble of the city faded into the background and all that was left was the feel of Gibbs in his mouth and the fingers touching Tony in benediction.

"Tony, oh." Gibbs pushed on his shoulder. Reluctantly, Tony opened his eyes and pulled back. Gibbs was on his knees, kissing Tony hard.

"Hey, why? Let me-"

Gibbs shook his head. "Lost your pasta, let me make it up to you."

Tony looked down and saw Gibbs pouring oil into his hand. That slick hand stroked up and down Tony's cock before those same fingers reached behind him and started to gently open him. "Oh, Boss, more of that, yeah."

Gibbs pulled him forward, hugging Tony to his body while his fingers slid in and out, making Tony forget any other moves he'd been daring to contemplate. Whatever Gibbs' plan was, Tony was behind it one hundred percent.

Nipping Tony's ear, Gibbs murmured, "Hands and knees. I can't wait to have you any longer."

Tony nodded but didn't move, not until Gibbs' fingers left him and those hands guided him into position. He felt the oil hit the top of his ass and roll down into the crease. Looking over his shoulder, Tony could see Gibbs stroking his own cock before guiding it against Tony's hole. He pushed slowly in, and Tony's head dropped as he tried to relax into the burn.

Gibbs hands moved along his back, rubbing in the oil and leaving a burning wake of body heat everywhere they moved. He didn't stop pushing until he was balls deep and Tony was stretched wide and filled with every inch of Gibbs' cock.

"You okay, Tony? Want to take care of you."

Spreading his knees just a bit further, Tony let out a breath, relaxing into the new sensations. "God, please move."

And Gibbs did, stroking with his hands as his hips backed slowly out and roughly pushed in. Soon, Gibbs was pistoning in and out as Tony's hand furtively grasped at the tarp, trying to find something to hold on to. He was pushing back as Gibbs pushed in, squeezing when he could. It was hard and more than a little rough for a guy so far out of practice, but Tony wouldn't have traded it for anything in that moment.

Then Gibbs shifted his angle and something exploded behind Tony's eyes as lightning waves of pleasure coursed through his body from his dick out to his fingers and toes. The pace wasn't fast enough. Tony tried to move more, but Gibbs knew how to hold him just right. Every time Gibbs filled Tony with his cock, Tony groaned out his pleasure.

"Want you to come for me, Tony. Screw that goddamn carrier group. This is all fucking mine." Gibbs wrapped a hand around Tony's dick, stripping him just as hard and as fast as he was pounding into Tony's ass. "Do you hear me, all mine!"

"Fuck, yeah!" Tony froze as the orgasm ripped out of him. There were animalistic noises coming from somewhere, and it took a few seconds for Tony to realize that they were coming out of him. It threw Gibbs off his stride, but only for a moment. He started again, long before Tony was done, picking up speed fast.

Too much sensation all at once, and Tony almost tried to pull away because the pleasure was overwhelming him. Then Gibbs' rhythm faltered and his weight came to rest on Tony's back.

"Christ, Tony, I missed you."

They were both breathing hard as Gibbs pulled out and they collapsed next to each other on the tarp. Tony gave into reflex and reached out for Gibbs' hand, threading their fingers together. He was a little surprised when Gibbs didn't fight him, but he wasn't about to stop to analyze it either. "Missed you, too."

They lay on the roof a while, watching the sky light up pink then orange. "Sunset, it's nice," Tony said. Then he shook his head. "But..."

"But not as nice as it is over the Pacific where it goes on forever over the open ocean, the horizon miles and miles away."

Tony turned his head and smiled at Gibbs. "Not all 273 nights sucked, but I have to say that 274 is shaping up beyond expectations."

Shaking his head, Gibbs smiled and chuckled. "I may need a short nap before you up those expectations."

"Nap would be good," Tony nodded. He sat up abruptly. "And food. Food would be good, too."

Gibbs slowly sat up and then ran a hand along Tony's cheek before kissing him. "Damn good thing we're fond of having sex in the kitchen."

Tony looked at the Washington sunset, feeling more at home than ever. He shrugged and smiled at Gibbs. "Not a big surprise. The aunts always said that everything important happened in the kitchen."

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta, Jane Davitt, who puts up with my inconsistent grammar and is a constant source of inspiration.
> 
> Written for: The [](http://community.livejournal.com/stupidboysfest/profile)[**stupidboysfest**](http://community.livejournal.com/stupidboysfest/) prompt: 02 How to Cook for Guests While Your Kitchen Is Being Repaired


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